Verisimilitude
by Pitselehvv
Summary: Tim tries to come to grips with reality while studying his characters. Takes place after "Revenge".


**A/N: Thanks to my Twitter Mafioso for encouragement, beta work, and many laughs. Hope you enjoy it, guys.**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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Tim McGee had spent enough nights away from his bed for it to be normal by now. His chosen majors in college had kept him busy enough to develop a tolerance to sleep deprivation, and joining team Gibbs had only put that tolerance to test. There had even been times when he had done it, not because of necessity, but to be able to spend time doing things he actually enjoyed. Nighttime was the only real chance he had to play a new game, or read a book, or indulge in some writing. Of course, those sleepless nights took place in the setting of his apartment, and not sitting on his desk chair, waiting for something to happen as was the case tonight.

McGee wasn't sure how much time had passed since they had returned to NCIS and Gibbs and Ziva had climbed the stairs leading to the director's office. He and Tony had settled in the bullpen, and they had fallen into a silence that was as tense as the situation. There were no reports to be written. This was not their case. By the time they had gotten to the scene, there was little to do other than allowing the body to be picked up by whomever it was that was taking over, and making sure Ziva was not hurt—or at least not seriously injured. And through it all, he had felt as little more than a spectator, a very guilty spectator.

Tim risked a glance in the general direction of his senior field agent, only to find Tony in the same position he had been in each time he had checked. Ever since they had reached the bullpen, DiNozzo had alternated between intensely staring at Ziva's desk and intensely staring in the direction of Vance's office, his cellphone in his hands, his fingers sliding around the edges, almost as if expecting someone to call at any second. Tony had been unnervingly quiet through this whole thing, speaking only when absolutely necessary to give out instructions or answer questions. Tim had seen him address Ziva once, to ask her if she was ok, to which she had responded with a single nod. That had been it. The rest of the night had consisted of Tony being silent, the expression on his face and the intensity in his eyes reminiscent of the time when he had dragged the team halfway around the world to avenge his partner. Avenge. Vengeance. Revenge. There always seemed to be some sort of need for retribution feeding this team, and McGee was ready for that trend to stop.

His eyes went to the blinking cursor on his screen. In his need to do something besides waiting, attempting to read Tony's mysterious mood, and remembering how he had consistently screwed up over the last few weeks, he had opened a blank document. Tim had been attempting to get some writing done, maybe get a new book going, but so far his efforts had been completely fruitless. He would have liked to be able to blame it on the setting: the sound and feel of the keyboard in his desktop didn't even come close to the one of his typewriter, and even the lighting and lack of music affected his overall writing mood. However, Tim was painfully aware that his surroundings were not the cause of his problem. Even in the few moments when he had sat in front of his Remington at home, he couldn't come to terms with the story anymore. Back when he had started writing Deep Six, his life had been exciting and interesting enough for him to draw out ideas and characters to fit perfectly into his crime fiction novel. He had been accused by everyone on the team, including the pair in autopsy and Abby herself, about his book going beyond being "based" on reality, but he could never completely agree with them. While Tibbs seemed invincible in the books, his real life inspiration for the character was not, and there had been an explosion and a season in Mexico to prove that point. Agent Tommy might have been a determined detective and a skirt chaser, but the man sitting a few feet away from him seemed to have given up the chase a long time ago to spend most of his time and energy worrying about a certain former Mossad officer. Officer Lisa had changed titles a long time ago, and while the mystery and fire that defined the character were still there, they seemed to be subdued, focused on specific tasks, like making right by her murdered father. Even McGregor, a once faithful sidekick, designated smart guy, and even occasional comic relief, had come a long way and had once played a strategic—if quiet—part in Somalia while his partner played head games with a psycho. With his fingers poised over the keys, ready to start writing, he realized that he couldn't quite understand how his characters had gotten to where they now were. How Lisa had lost so much and gained so much and risked everything again. How Tommy had seen so much and felt so much and realized so much about things he didn't know how to handle. How Tibbs had failed and had made amends and how he'd come back to lead them again. How McGregor kept getting involved in these situations because this was his chosen family. Tim stared at the screen, realizing he would have to come to terms with reality before he could sit down and write what he knew, even if he didn't understand it. Even if he didn't understand Tommy's devotion to Lisa, Lisa's care for Tommy, and the way Tibbs gently pushed them towards each other while pretending not to notice or approve. Even if he wasn't sure how they would get out of this one. Even if he knew his career might be over the next morning.

Gibbs appeared on top of the stairs, Ziva nowhere near him, and Tony stood up. Tim followed suit, mostly because he was used to following Tony's lead by now.

"Go home, you two" were the boss' words as he got to the bullpen, not even looking at the two standing agents.

"Where's Ziva, boss?" Tony asked.

"McGee will take you home, DiNozzo. Get some sleep. I'll see you two in the morning."

And with that, he left the bullpen again, leaving even more questions and not a single answer on his wake. McGee saw Tony's gaze move to the top of the stairs, and he turned to find a battered Ziva standing there. She did not seem to notice McGee, and just like it had happened sometime after Africa, DiNozzo and David seemed to be having an entire conversation regardless of his presence in the bullpen. This time, however, he could not pretend to have somewhere else to be; he was Tony's ride. The impasse was broken when Ziva nodded again, and walked away. McGee had no idea where she was going now. MTAC? Back to Vance's? Tony's eyes followed her until she was out of sight again, and suddenly, the fire which had been holding the senior field agent through the night seemed to die down and leave the shell of an exhausted man behind.

"Ready?" McGee asked him, turning to the blank page and blinking cursor to power down the computer.

"Yeah, I guess I might as well head out." Tony said, his voice betraying his fatigue. He bounced back quickly enough, though. "I would ask you to stop by the taco shack outside the gate on the way out, McGee, but God forbid the sauce might stain the immaculate McRide."

Tim grabbed his gear and made his way to the elevator before answering.

"Some of us like cleanliness in our lives, Tony."

"And some of us actually have lives, McGee. There's a difference."

They climbed into the elevator, Tony still making light of McGee's rules, and teasing the younger agent. For once, McGee could take it. At least the silence was gone, and as it turned out, not everything had changed for Tommy and McGregor after all.


End file.
